


The Good Part

by doreah



Category: Episodes (TV)
Genre: Canon Bisexual Character, Canon Lesbian Character, Canon Lesbian Relationship, Domestic Bliss, F/F, Fluff, Happy Ending, Long-Term Relationship(s), POV Female Character, POV Multiple, Post-Finale, Post-Series, Recreational Drug Use, Retcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-05
Updated: 2018-01-08
Packaged: 2019-02-28 19:25:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 18,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13278270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doreah/pseuds/doreah
Summary: [ “Oh god. Why does this keep happening to me? Am I ever going to be happy? I always just assumed that one day I'd end up with some great guy who's not married and not fucked up but what if this is it? What if this isn't the shit I have to go through to get to the good part? What if *this is* the good part?” Episodes, S03E07 ]Carol finally has the chance to explore life beyond the shit.





	1. One Week Later

**Author's Note:**

> So, I wanted to write some pointless, angst-free, feel-good fluff for once. It's certainly not my forte. Originally the idea was something a lot shorter but as with all things I try, it grew 10x bigger. It's still mostly fluff. I just wanted to give Carol some closure with all the miserable stuff she's been through during the series and her happily ever after, at various times after the events in the bathroom in the finale.
> 
> I'd have to lay half the blame on Sarah Slean for this fluffy feeling though (the other half is the holiday season). You try listening to "Loved Well" (that chorus!) and "Nothing But The Light" and not feeling good.
> 
> Also, clearly I retconned the S5 pregnancy subplot cos I thought it was cheap and cliched and I don't want to have to deal with it.

_Just come in._

That's the last text she had received and that was over half and hour ago. Beverly pulled into the driveway and glanced at her messages again, raising an eyebrow when there was nothing new popping up on the screen. The engine purred into silence as the radio kept murmuring some insipid American soft rock lovesong and she honestly wondered what she was doing here at all. Carol rang hours ago, going on about something or other regarding Helen that Beverly couldn't quite follow but it had ended with something resembling an invitation to come over. At least, that what she guessed it had been. Eventually she stepped out of the car, walking slowly to the familiar door, with no idea what she was going to find on the other side. She wasn't quite certain she could go through another one of Carol's devastating breakups with Helen again. Especially not with that special sort of flavour that was her relationship with Helen.

The door clicked almost silently as it opened and she was met with an immediately recognizable and pungent scent. There may actually have been a cloud throughout the foyer. Further in was the echo of voices, yelling. For one terrible moment, Beverly's pulse quickened and she felt that nasty little ball of dread churning in her stomach. And then the words made themselves clear.

“Oh come on, Lori-Anne!”

“You can't get a garage _and_ a whole new kitchen _and_ a home office!”

“List it! She's gonna make him list it.”

“I bet you a hundred dollars they'll love it. They always love it.”

Oh. So, that's what was happening. Absolute insanity. There was part of Beverly that realised, with some weak trepidation, that Carol had likely found her soulmate. Out of the billions of people in the world, spread over millions of square miles, that person had just happened to show up at the same office in LA, as her boss. And Carol thought she was unlucky!

She called out a greeting but obviously the sound couldn't carry through the haze of smoke and screaming obscenities at the television. So she ventured further, stepping into the living room and was met only with a chokingly thick smog, overwhelming smell of pizza and beer, and two women focused far too intensely on the hellscape that was the fucking inane HGTV. Her brow furrowed deeply as she took in the scene. Nothing like a Sunday afternoon rager.

Carol was lying on prone on the sofa in the same charcoal grey sweatpants she'd been living in for the last few months, hair tied up in one of her ubiquitous scrunchies. She appeared to have pizza sauce on her top and a ridiculously big smile on her face. Helen on the other hand was sitting on the carpet, leaning against the sofa, her light chestnut hair fanned out at the perfect spot for Carol's fingers to comb gently through it, as she was currently doing. Their common boss was in what Beverly could only assume were her pyjamas: a t-shirt and some silly fleecy bottoms with sheep on them, and the bonus of a joint hanging from her fingers. She passed it back with hum. The table in front of Helen was absolutely littered with rubbish, from empty beer bottles to chocolate wrappers to cardboard boxes of half-eaten pizza to ashtrays full of burnt out roaches. It looked like a large herd of teenagers had crashed Carol's house.

“Hello.”

Well, it wasn't quite the same yelp as Carol's usual surprised scream. That was a plus. But two heads swung quickly to face her as if she was a completely unexpected home invader. Then Helen laughed, a bit unexpectedly, and Carol followed suit with a barrage of giggles that were clearly inspired by the medicinal-grade marijuana.

“Hi, honey! Come in, sit!” Carol trilled, lazily flapping her hand towards the other sofa, the one of that was covered with discarded clothing, including someone's black knickers. Beverly winced and quickly averted her gaze elsewhere. She stepped slowly into the room, cautiously padding over to the less decorated end of the sofa.

“Help yourself,” Helen suggested, pushing a pizza box in her general direction and stretching out to dangle the joint.

Beverly ignored the clearly cold and stale pizza and plucked the joint carefully from Helen's outstretched hand instead. “Don't mind if I do.” She was going to need it by the looks of things. She took a long drag as Carol watched her with bleary, bloodshot eyes and a stupid smile on her face. Helen was preoccupied with peeling back a beer bottle label intact.

She reached out and placed the dope gently on the edge of an ashtray. “So, you two seem to have been productive this weekend.”

Carol giggled again and held up 7 fingers behind Helen's head, flashing the digits at Beverly. “Just today!” she laughed, mouthing the words “Seven times!” at the end. Meanwhile, Helen succeeded in ripping the label off without a tear and whistled happily at her accomplishment.

“Very productive,” she intoned again, staring at the beer labels strewn on the coffee table and then back at Carol's beaming face. Between orgasms and peeling labels off bottles, they clearly had been busy.

“Well, we tried to watch that movie _Carol_ ,” Helen began, completely oblivious to Carol's previous disclosure. “Made it about 20 minutes in.” There was a very distinct smug smirk on her face and she turned to crane her face towards Carol. It was... begrudgingly cute.

“It's a _sloooow_ movie.”

“I _still_ haven't seen the end,” Carol chuckled, pulling herself up into something resembling what some people may consider a sitting position. She sort of more resembled a very lazy raccoon pretending to be a human being. How much weed had the two of them smoked?

There was a comfortable lull in conversation as the three women stared blankly at the television, watching in boredom as the person Beverly could only assume was the same Lori-Anne from before began whinging about the vomit-ish colour of the cabinets in the loo. It was broken only by Helen scoffing loudly when the husband put up a fight over the colour.

“Told you they're gonna list it!”

Carol stretched out awkwardly and roughly nudged the brunette's shoulder with a sock-clad foot, probably a little harder than intended and Helen toppled over momentarily. “They won't. Just watch.”

With a flurry of rather clumsy, inebriated movement and ear-piercingly loud laughter from both of them, Helen had grabbed ahold of Carol's foot and managed to twisted herself around, clambered up onto the sofa, half on top of her girlfriend. The younger woman squirmed desperately, trying to get out from under Helen and her fingertips, her laugh bouncing hard off the walls. They were akin to schoolchildren suddenly, her high-ranking executive best friend and her no-nonsense (frankly terrifying) TV network president boss. It was the oddest bloody thing she'd ever seen.

And probably also the happiest she'd ever, ever, _ever_ seen Carol and that must count for something. Well, maybe that oddity specifically was what really made it seem like a scene from an alternative universe.

“Fine! Fine!” Carol squealed, trying to catch her breath between laughs. “They'll list it!”

Helen stilled her hands, hovering over her girlfriend with a huge smug grin, breathing a little more heavily than perhaps the activity alone would account for. They were staring at each other in that way Beverly had attempted to replicate in her scripts many times; that way that signalled so much more was going on but the only people privy to it were the two people involved. On a creative level, this was some juicy reference material she'd bank for future use. On a personal level, being this sort of third wheel was often awkward and always a bit boring. As her friend caught her breath, small hands reached up, grabbed Helen's face and pulled her down for an unabashedly impassioned kiss.

And just like that it was over and Carol had scrambled away, reaching for a nearly empty beer to soothe what was sure to be a dry throat. She glanced at Beverly momentarily, casting a thrilled, sly smile her way before wagging her bottle to her face to see how much was left.

Helen sat upright, gazing around the room, as if she just realised what was happening and who else was with her. Her eyes fell onto the table and then also met Beverly's stare. Immediately, she stood bolt upright. Was something on fire?

“You don't have a drink!” she exclaimed, her voice sounding a bit apologetic. “We're all out. I'll get us some more beer. Wine? Beer? ...Liquor?” It was apparent they never once had drinks together before. Considering the woman was knuckle-deep in her best friend 24-7, that seemed like a step that should have happened at some point prior to this.

“Beer is fine,” Beverly intoned, keeping her voice level and soft to counteract the thick buzzing energy in the room. Something else hung in the air until Helen was out of earshot, presumably searching high and low for more beer in the depths of Carol's kitchen cabinets.

A long breathy sigh escaped the woman lazing on the sofa and her face was lit with a glowing smile as she turned to Beverly. “This is so amazing.”

The Brit glanced down at the roach between her fingers, squinting at it. “Is it?” It seemed like regular weed and the high wasn't anything particularly special. But then again, she hadn't had 7 orgasms or an entire 12-pack of beer in the last 6 hours either. “I take it you're doing well, then.”

“Yeah.” Carol giggled a bit at her own thoughts and bit down on her lip for a moment. “Why didn't you tell me make-up sex was like this?” She grinned even wider. “7 times! Just today!”

That likely wasn't quite the definition. Beverly sat back in her seat, brow furrowing. “It's been a week.”

“So?”

“Okay, please ignore the gnawing jealousy in my tone here but you do know, make-up sex does not last that long? It's temporarily. What you have now— _a week later_ —is just your regular sex. _Seven_ times a day.”

“Wow,” she sighed. “It's even better than before.”

Beverly scowled, the lines digging a bit deeper into her face. “Super.” She knew Carol wasn't trying to be a braggart but as a married woman of many, many years, she knew what was waiting down the road and what had been left behind from those early days of infatuation.

“Okay, look,” Carol leaned forward on her elbows, her face growing slightly darker even with the hazy sort of look in her eyes. “I'm not an idiot. I know it's not going to be like this forever—”

“Well, you never—”

“It's not. But! But honestly? Like, even not just the sex part, but the whole thing feels so much better than it did the last time, you know?”

There was that smile again. A bit stoned, of course, but also something else that flitting around the edges. It was probably most strange because of how relaxed Carol appeared to be. Gone was the fidgeting and jaw clenching and hive scratching neuroses of a few months ago and in the wake was Carol, a new creature. Perhaps a reborn creature of confidence and happiness and the whole fucking thing seemed to be coming out perfectly for her. And, as a friend, Beverly couldn't find a single thing to be jealous or miserable about.

She studied Carol quietly, taking in her demeanour, the aura of contentment around her, the bedraggled state of her hair... and the total rubbish heap on the coffee table that signified time well wasted.

“You know, a while ago, back before Helen...”

“Mmm hmm?”

“We were in a very similar situation except, well, it was after Castor—or during—I'm not sure which honestly. Either way.”

Carol squinted at her best friend, confusion and curiosity playing out simultaneously on her face. It was possible she wouldn't even remember that long ago with all the weed they'd smoked that evening. And since.

“You asked me if maybe all that bullshit was the good part. Do you remember that?”

There was a shrug which really could mean anything at all and it gave Beverly very little to go on, as per usual. “You asked me if you'd ever be happy.” And then she had burst into tears about how sad and pathetic Carol's life was at that time. It was probably best not to bring that up again. “Well, I think... you, _this_ is your good part. This thing with Helen is what all that miserable shit for years and years and years was for.”

It looked as if Carol was about to cry all over again but hopefully for the opposite reason as in the past. She swiped at the corners of her eyes roughly with the sleeve of her hoodie and a hesitant smile peeked out. “You really think so?”

Beverly softened at the hopefulness of the question. “Well, are you happy?”

An emphatic nod answered her and that's when she saw the tears building, threatening to spill over onto Carol's pinkened cheeks. “More than ever.” There was an authenticity to the words, a strange tone that Carol so very rarely used. It was the sound of a woman who was finally being honest with herself.

“Then it certainly feels like the good part, doesn't it?”

Before her friend had a chance to respond, Helen's footsteps came padding back into the room as the beer bottles clanked against each other with a shit-eating grin on her face. She held them out triumphantly. “Ta da!” She passed a cold one to Beverly and placed the rest on the table amidst the empties and pizza before sliding down next to her girlfriend. A moment of silence fell over the room, aside from the television as Lori-Ann complained again about the tacky pewter hardware on the cabinetry.

Something was whirling in Carol's head. Her eyes were glazed and far away, but she leaned almost unconsciously into Helen. It really had been so long; Carol had been waiting— _dying_ for this for so long. Helen took a long swig of her Stella and no sooner had she put the bottle down, that Carol shifted sideways, tugged on Helen's top and wrapped her arms over the older woman.

“Oh, hello,” Helen remarked quietly with a small yet elated (and a little self-satisfied) smile, taken aback by the sudden affectionate gesture as Carol snuggled down, pulling in tighter. The brunette's arms easily found their way around Carol. Any moment, Beverly was sure she'd hear a declaration of love as if she wasn't also in the room with them.

But no such words escaped. Instead, she was gifted with a glimpse of what these two were like outside work, and outside the anxiety that plagued her best friend on a near-constant basis. Yes, this was definitely Carol's good part.

 


	2. Three Months Later

 

A leaf drifted down in the warm breeze, landing with a ripple across Helen's immaculately kept swimming pool. Carol glanced to her left, taking in the view of her girlfriend stretched out as she lounged coolly on the deck chair. Beads of condensation dripped slowly down the glass sides of their forgotten and half-empty mojitos. A distant buzz of a rare, eleventh-hour cicada punctuated the silence. It was exactly what a late summer weekend afternoon was meant to be like. Lazy. Quiet. Relaxed. Comfortably hot.

Just as she turned her head back to stare at the empty blue sky, there was the echo of bells from deep inside the house. Since Helen appeared to be ignoring it, Carol did the same, settling down again and reaching for her borrowed book. Again, the trill of impatient ringing bounced outside to interrupt the afternoon. Helen smacked her magazine down on the pool deck with a groan and swung her legs around, her bare feet hitting the tiles with a slap.

“Shit.”

That got her attention. “What's up?” she asked as her voice strangled itself, desperately trying not to get distracted by the sight of Helen's newly tanned body clad only in a navy string bikini.

Helen caught the look and smirked with a cocked eyebrow, waiting for Carol's gaze to snap back to her face instead of her chest. She could feel the flush of red flooding her cheeks at being caught out, even if she knew Helen adored the attention.

“I think it's my kids.”

Carol launched herself off the lounger, wincing as she realised she hadn't brought a cover-up of any kind. They were supposed to be alone. Shit, shit, shit. Helen had mentioned something about her kids coming by for dinner on the weekend but after the hectic week at the office and the distractions of the morning, she'd totally forgotten. And apparently Helen had as well.

“Ugh. They weren't supposed to be here until the evening.” Clearly Helen was excited to have her kids around. She grabbed her slinky little kimono thing and wrapped herself in it, a frown creasing her face as the doorbell rang repeatedly. Didn't these grown adult kids have keys?

With a huff, Helen swept inside as she began jogging to the front door leaving Carol alone beside the pool, and very skimpily clad for meeting someone's children for the first time. A bunch of noise filtered out as the kids came into the house, dumping various bags around the foyer with loud thumps.

At least she had a towel. Sort of. Wrangling the fabric into a makeshift coverup, she tiptoed into rec room trying to avoid the foyer for long enough to allow her an invisible escape to Helen's bedroom where her clothes were waiting.

The conversation was much clearer now and it sounded almost like an argument in its beginning stages. Maybe that's why the kids rarely visited. Nope, not quite there were definitely 4 distinct voices and Carol wracked her brain to recall if Helen had another boy she'd rarely mentioned. Nothing was coming up but there were most definitely two male voices, and two female ones. Helen's was most recognizable obviously, especially as she said, quite loudly, “Absolutely not!”

She lingered a bit, resting against the door frame with a restrained sigh not daring to peek around.

“Ed, no. Just go home.”

“Mom! I told him he could come for dinner though! We never see him!” That must be her daughter Allison's voice.

“ _I_ never see you!” Helen always had hated sharing.

Ed. Ed. _Shit fuck fuck_. She definitely couldn't wander out there now! Granted, she figured that she and Ed would eventually have to meet again but that was supposed to be way down some distant line. Hell, she expected to have a wedding ring on her finger that's how enormously far in the future she had wanted it to be. It should not be when she's practically naked, wrapped only in a towel, a bit drunk, in his ex-wife's house, in front of both his children.

The back and forth went on, and on, and on. Over and over. It wasn't going to stop, was it? Her skin began to prickle in the air-conditioning and a shiver crept up her spine. Maybe that was anxiety. Fuck, she was so cold. Taking a deep breath, and then another, she stepped out into the foyer, cringing as her bare feet touched the cold stone floor.

This was not good. At all. The cacophony stopped abruptly and all eyes fell onto Carol. Shifting her weight back and forth, she pulled the towel tighter across her chest.

“Hi.”

The kids just looked bemused, thankfully. As did Helen. But Ed... he was the most confused Carol thought she'd ever seen him and that included that time a cyberpunk mime came into the ABC offices as a weird gift for his birthday. His mouth gaped slightly. Ignoring the reaction, Helen moved quickly, sidling up beside Carol. She could just reach out, that'd be nice—and warm. So warm. God, she was so fucking cold.

“Alli, Jack, this is Carol.”

“Hey,” Jack tried, a little hesitantly and Alli just waved.

A warm arm wrapped around her back, Helen's hand heavy on her hip. It felt really, really good. “Ed, I'm pretty sure you remember, Carol?” There was ice there. Definite ice. And Helen's hold grew just slightly tighter. Carol could feel Helen's fingers flex just slightly against her skin, possessively, protectively.

Like a thunderstorm, a dark cloud passed over Ed's weathered and obviously already pissed off visage. (What had she ever seen in him?) “You're fucking kidding me, right, Helen?” He abruptly tilted his head, grimacing, and the sound of vertebrae snapping into place seemed to echo off the granite. “Her? _Her_?!”

The woman beside her felt rigid as a board suddenly. “This may be news to you but you don't get an opinion about anybody in my life. You don't even get to _think_ about it.” There was something very smug sounding in Helen's voice all the same, like she won the biggest prize at the fair.

“I damnwell should if it's her.”

Jack coughed loudly, impatiently even, and Alli crossed her arms across her chest, head tilted and looking very much her mother's daughter. “What's going on, Mom?”

Carol's gaze jumped back and forth between Ed and Helen who were both shooting daggers at each other in silence. She really didn't want to be the one to break the awkward news to children that weren't even hers but her skin was covered in goosebumps and the very faint trembling in her limbs was about to make its way to her core soon. She had no clue whether it was merely the bone-deep cold or rather her overblown nerves. Helen must have felt the shudder because she tore her death glare away from her ex-husband and rubbed her hands over Carol's bare arms, attempting to warm her through friction.

“ _Honey_ , you're freezing,” Her voice had taken on a much softer and gentler tone, concern pouring from her suddenly, completely ignoring Ed—who was still grimacing in her general direction. “I'll tell you later. We're going to get changed.” After a pause, she met Ed's bothered stare head on. “Ed, get the fuck out of my house.”

“Mom!” Jack, an actual 19-year-old boy, sounded instead like a toddler as his voice whined out the sound in high-pitched pleading.

Helen nudged Carol in front of her towards the staircase, never letting her hands fall away. It was the most comforting feeling; a shiver rippled though her body for an entirely different reason. “Jack, enough. Your father wasn't invited for a reason. You can see him later.”

 

 

The kids had calmed down marginally since the impromptu meeting in the foyer but they clearly still seemed wary of Carol. Every few minutes, she'd catch Alli studying her intently only to look away quickly when caught. Jack on the other hand appeared to have zero interest in Carol's presence and was sulking about the absence of his father, spearing his food with a fork almost violently. But Helen had already warned Carol that Jack would likely be sullen and unfriendly since he was, and she could quote, “at that weird stage between being an asshole teenager and being a miserable young adult”. There was a moment when Helen just did that dead stare at him as he pretended not to notice his mother's condemnation of his spoiled behaviour and Carol couldn't help the smirk that peeked out. When Helen caught it, she too smiled and rolled her eyes.

The conversation wasn't strained by any means, and Carol put on her best small talk persona, filling in lapses in the childrens' discussions with their mother with the sort of questions she knew 20-somethings loved to answer. They weren't necessarily the most exciting topics but it relaxed them. There was a very real reason she was paid the big bucks at the network for precisely these well-developed social skills under pressure. It worked on Alli anyway, who appeared the more mature and sociable of the two.

“So, you were with my dad.”

Jack's voice was monotone and low. It probably wasn't a question but it could have been. Helen groaned under her breath and took a large bite of chicken. Carol could do nothing better than shrug because well, yes, she had been. A lifetime ago. Honestly, it was a little weird to even think about the person she had been then versus the person she was now. But how to explain that to a 19-year-old who seemed intent on making her as uncomfortable as possible?

“You helped him cheat on my mom.”

“Jack!” Helen interjected loudly and throwing her fork down loudly against the tabletop. “I'm not hung up on it so you shouldn't be. Let it go.”

Totally unintimidated by his mother, he glared directly at her. “You hate him for it still. Why don't you hate her too?”

It was actually a reasonable question that likely everyone would wonder about but Helen didn't seem to consider it the same way. “First of all, I hate your father for many, _many_ reasons.” She scoffed to herself. “Secondly, that was a really long time ago.” Carol took a large sip of water and glanced over at her girlfriend, hoping for some sort of hint about what her next move should be. Jack took the initiative instead after narrowing his eyes in his mother's direction and then back at Carol.

“Who do you love more? My mom or dad.”

Jesus. This was not normal dinner conversation and for some reason, she knew immediately that Helen wouldn't be bailing her out of this one; this one was on her alone. Even though the answer was so obvious the kid should be ashamed of asking it. No such thing as dumb questions, her ass.

“Obviously your mom.”

“Seriously?”

She could feel her jaw clenching harder and her fingers wrapping more tightly around her utensils. This was the worst possible dinner situation she had imagined. Her words came out strained and stretched. “Yes. Seriously.”

“Did you love my dad?”

Okay, so the whole thing was probably really confusing for the kid but come on. He was an adult, not some petulant preteen who didn't understand grown up relationships. They had both seemed all right after Helen's albeit brief but perfunctory explanation as they set the table. As the questions kept coming, Carol realised that many, if not most children of divorce never really got to interrogate the reason (or one of many in Helen's case) for their parents' divorce, and essentially, stare point blank at a person and lay all the blame there. She was the bad guy here and no matter what answer she gave to Jack's irritating and frankly completely unfair question, it wouldn't be the right one. So, she opted for something not usually in her armoury: honesty.

“No.” There was a sneer from Jack and out of the corner of her eye, she could see Helen just watching her, waiting. For something. “I thought I did for a while. Then your mother came along and I realized that I never had really loved anyone before her.” She almost wanted to give herself a pat on the back for such a perfect, storybook answer. She couldn't be certain but it looked as if Helen wiped at her eye.

“Why? Cause you're a lesbian?”

 _Oh god._ Her stomach began rippling dangerously and she swallowed hard despite not having anything in her mouth. With the searing temperature they felt, there was no way in hell her cheeks weren't bright red. “I wouldn't—”

Alli's voice snapped through whatever bumbling explanation Carol was about to give to the question she still hadn't fully grappled with herself. “Oh my god, is that red hat too tight, asshole?”

Jack sneered at her immediately, ready to fight but struggled to find a quick retaliation. It reminded Carol a bit to much of her own teenagehood, right before she'd moved out west, never to return.

“She's obviously, like, bi or pan or something. Do you live under a fucking rock?”

“Jesus Christ...” Helen growled deeply, shaking her head at the argument. “Carol, can I speak to you?” She thumbed towards the other room, face dark and unhappy, and as much as her skin felt like it was on fire and her muscles felt precariously close to failing her, she would rather face whatever Helen was about to throw at her than this clusterfuck of mining into her personal life.

Why was it still so common an occurrence to feel petrified in situations like these, like she was some truant junior high-schooler being called into the principal's office. It's a reaction she'd never quite mastered, or managed to suppress at any level. Not only was the sheer concept of confrontation terrifying but the idea that somehow she'd let somebody important down weighed too heavily for any sane person. Maybe she had time to chew up a Xanax first. Nope, probably not. Maybe that was for the best.

As she rounded the corner, journeying farther away from the dinner table, she could hear the screeches of siblings arguing back and forth but their words roared inaudibly. The only clear sound was that of her own breathing, and pounding heart.

Helen was waiting for her and really, by this point in their relationship, she should have known better.

There was a soft smile on Helen's face; she wasn't angry or annoyed or ready to argue about some inane topic. Yeah, she should have known better by now that good things could happen as well as bad... and lately, for the last 3 months anyway, the good things were outnumbering the bad by miles.

Without giving Carol a second to react, there were warm hands on her cheeks and soft lips against her own and her whole body did this really weird thing where it was like her heart was fluttering but her insides turned to total goo. How she was even still standing was a miracle in its own right. It probably helped that her hands were grasped tightly to Helen's shirt like her life depended on it. These were the sorts of kisses that she had no idea existed outside of the movies; the type that literally swept her off her feet, leaving her breathless, and any number of well-worn cliches. All those romantic ideals had seemed so far-fetched, so idiotic, so pointlessly absurd. It was probably some species of jealousy and denial coupled with self-preservation that had inspired such disbelief for most of her adult life. Yeah, it was probably for the best that they hadn't done this in front of Jack and Alli.

When she finally had the opportunity to catch her breath, there was bound to be a flustered, idiotic grin on her face. Helen on the other hand appeared a bit more serious. Her eyes were dark, a little misty even.

“I love you too.” Helen's voice was quiet yet achingly earnest. The relief in the shaky sigh at the end tugged insistently at something in Carol's chest.

Suddenly the whole sneaky getaway made complete sense. Of course, Helen had said those words, once, in the bathroom at that law firm but never again. They were taking things slow so despite how much she must have felt it, she had remained quiet, kept it to herself unwilling to spook Carol. And the fact was it had been nice not to have that pressure. Like, she knew how Helen felt but never once had suffered the burden of having to say it back, to deal with her girlfriend's heavy expectation. Even if, really, she needn't have worried because it was so obvious now that there was no need for fear. Now, after everything, saying she loved Helen was like breathing. It felt right, easy, nice. Like it was literally the most natural thing in the world.

Hearing the words so bluntly, so heartrendingly sincerely (but in the best way possible) hit a nerve. She hadn't expected this, not so soon. Allowing herself to fall in love, she had promised herself, was going to take a long, long time this time around. No more jumping in. No more confusing infatuation (and desperation) with love. No more throwing herself at the mercy of people who didn't really know her. It was supposed to take a long studied contemplation.

And then she just blurted out her feelings without thinking. Something about seeing Ed maybe had some influence on her when she saw his face and felt absolutely nothing beyond distaste. There was no cozy nostalgia, no latent sweet memories, certainly no niggling love feeling. But every time she had glanced at Helen there was a completely different feeling burrowing itself into her skin that made her feel safe and warmly comfortable.

She couldn't help herself as her body leaned in towards Helen, tugging on her shirt and drawing her face in again. 3 months. (And 39 years.) That's how long it had taken for her to fall in love, finally. As her eyelids slipped closed and she could feel the soft breaths against her lips, seconds before meeting Helen's again, she sensed that Beverly was right: this was probably the good part.

 


	3. Eight Months Later

There were noises all over the place, booming, bouncing, twinkly, every which way but Carol had managed to effectively cancel them all out by staring—almost obsessively, mesmerized—at the sparkling diamond tennis bracelet hanging loosely from her wrist. Yes, hers. Not someone else's where she had to sneak glances to covet it. It was on her arm, dangling, reflecting all the chandelier light and glinting into the eyes of jealous tablemates. She'd never really expected herself to be one of _those_ sorts of women but there was something to be said for receiving the envious stares of others instead of the pitying or judgmental ones. And it wasn't for a rental or some knock-off cubic zirconium either like she'd attempted to pull off in the past. It was the real thing. The real, really crazy expensive, _real_ thing. It matched her also very real earrings.

Again, she wasn't bragging but... it felt good to feel like she was on the same level as her company, with their big trust funds and estates and CEO salaries.

A man was yapping on stage about something, probably some fab film endeavour that did exceptionally well for four already filthy rich Bel Air execs. Carol couldn't care less because she had a glass of fantastic Ruinart champagne, an eye-catching accessory, a huge grin on her face, and a woman beside her that had made it all possible. Helen at least was attempting to pay attention to the speaker even though the slight bouncing of her leg betrayed her nerves about the upcoming events. This was going to be a big night for her; perhaps the biggest since joining their network. Maybe it was just to show off her bracelet again, maybe it was just because she honestly cared, but Carol reached out and gently took Helen's hand, resting them together on the table. It didn't take more than a quick squeeze for Helen to signal her gratitude and just the idea that she, little old Number Two, had that effect made her heart skip a little faster.

Another old man who was likely on the board of directors took the stage finally, droning on with really bad jokes about the network, about what changes it had been though, about how successful it was doing despite the way modern television consumption was leaning towards streaming and on demand offerings, and about how it was basically all because of the president in charge. It was high praise and Carol smirked a little at all of it, especially when people craned their heads towards Helen, knowing what was coming next—because, well, she was the one who got to work so closely with her. She was the one who got to go home with her, be with her every night, and damn it felt good to know at least one person in that room was bound to be jealous of that. Probably more, to be honest.

Eventually they announced her name, and the award that was being bestowed onto her and Helen shuffled around, standing slowly, making sure her navy blue gown was hanging in all the right places before heading with purpose to the centre of the stage ahead.

Yep, that was her woman there about to take some prestigious award for her hard work and intelligence and confidence and ingenuity and every other positive word that could possibly run through Carol's slightly over-stimulated mind.

Years ago, like many years ago it felt like now, she'd been a similar position with Merc. He was getting Man of the Year—for no real reason in retrospect but she'd been too blinded by what she had thought was love to see that. And he was married. (When wasn't he married?) That whole night had been an epic disaster of viral Youtube proportions, literally. It was unlikely that this year would be a repeat of that. Hopefully. And, as a bonus, she wasn't invisible this time either. Arriving to this dazzling gala with Helen instead of a few steps behind felt otherworldly, like she'd stepped into some fantasy version of her own life and she still wasn't certain which parts were real and what she'd only imagined in her mind even now.

She willed her brain to pay attention to the sounds coming from Helen's mouth up on that stage as she accepted the award for her contribution to Los Angeles County's entertainment sector. There was instead a bubbling over of pride, and love, and excitement even if it had nothing to do with her, not really. At least her gaze was rapt on Helen instead of the bracelet this time even if she couldn't quite concentrate.

It wasn't until she managed to catch Helen's hazel eyes as they darted in her direction that she managed to wrangle her attention to the actual words coming from the stage. They made contact for just a brief moment but it was enough to see the little smirk, the twinkle in her eye.

“...and I would be remiss not to insist that I was _not_ alone. I'm standing up here alone to accept this but I'm not. I didn't do any of this by myself. There's a huge, talented team here in LA, and across the country from affiliates to engineers to investors who opted to give me and the network a chance, or a second chance. And, really, this bounce back and the successful integration of digital and traditional broadcasting owes to the content producers who create the programmes that people want to see, the things that speak to them and pull them in from all sorts of areas of life. Primarily, I have nothing but praise for the team behind “Episodes” which has managed not only to shock everybody by being a smash hit state-side, but has taken on the UK, European, and Australian markets, giving us a unique opportunity to expand our reach internationally, across every ocean. So, part of this is owed to Sean  & Beverly Lincoln, thank you.”

Carol grinned at the shout out and swung around to gaze at the table next to theirs where Beverly and Sean were, with Matt (and Morning and Merc, of course). It was almost a reflex to give the thumbs up to her dearest friends and Beverly, ever the showman, smirked and awkwardly gave thumbs up back to her. Man, it would be nice to be at their table right now. Helen was still talking, bestowing the virtues of almost every level of the company including Matt Leblanc but when the silence came, her attention snapped back to the stage.

Helen took a breath, looking a bit bashful suddenly but maybe there was something else behind it. Maybe it was only Carol that noticed the change in her posture, the softening on her face, and the very slight tenderness that laced her voice.

“But most of all, there is a particular person that none of this success would have been possible without. Most of you in the industry have met her, and been as charmed by her as I was. But the decisions made, the direction the network has been headed, and the way it even managed to stay afloat during the worst times? That was her doing. Not mine, not any network president in the past. That brilliant business mind is, our Director of Programming, Carol Rance and nobody can claim that our network would be half of what it is now without her diligence, creativity, and expertise. Just last evening, I was stressing over this speech not having enough jokes and she just said, “Forget about that. Just say what you feel.” You'd think such a simple thing would have been obvious but it wasn't. And that's Carol's strength: She knows, does, and says what others overlook and it _works_. So, really, this award is as much hers as it is mine. Thank you all for this,” she raised the crystalline trophy up, “But thank you especially to Carol for being by my side through the muck _and_ the good stuff.”

Helen paused briefly, meeting Carol's rapt stare, mouthing the words, “Thank you,” towards her alone, punctuated with a quick, almost imperceptible, wink.

The move caught Carol off-guard and for a moment she forgot to breathe. A small rush zapped through her limbs and she was certain she'd never felt it before, probably because nobody had ever acknowledged her contributions so sincerely and so publicly before. Sure, she'd had a few run-ins with Elliot where Merc or Castor boasted about her talent but those had been private lunches and meetings. It hadn't been in front of a crowd of 600 top leaders and industry people. And she wasn't stupid: she knew that it was all underscored in everyone's minds by the fact that she was sleeping with Helen. (But they were more than just 'sleeping together'. People knew that too, surely?)

“So, thank you everyone for this wonderful award.”

A roaring (probably slightly drunken) round of applause echoed through the ballroom as Helen grinned and came down off the stage with her trophy in hand. It seemed to be Sean that had started the standing ovation and within seconds, everyone was on their feet, clapping, a few people whistling and it was like something from another fucking dimension.

Helen took her time, shaking a few hands and chatting a little bit on her way back to the table, but when she was within about 10 feet, her focus changed completely and Carol felt it like a vise around her chest, but in a good way? If it wasn't for the dull noise of slowly fading applause swirling around her, she may have forgotten completely that anyone else existed. By the time Helen kissed her, she gave up on any feeling of normalcy, or reality even. It wasn't an intense kiss; it wasn't making out; it wasn't anything that couldn't be done by anyone else in such company—but it was all _hers_. It was for her. Someone had just come off a stage and kissed _her_ —who so often had been merely the invisible mistress. She was the _first choice_.

There was no better word for Carol's state than simply dazed, even as they took their seats again and the ceremony continued onto other things. As she glanced around, trying to find Beverly's grounding presence in the faces of people surrounding them, she met Merc's stare. He smirked, gestured to Helen, and did those stupid finger guns at them both. That was enough of a dump of cold water to jolt Carol from her dream-like state and she blatantly grimaced, not quite understanding what the point of him existing even was. It seemed a waste of energy to even try to work it out.

 

The high hadn't faded even an hour later as she stood at the bar, waiting on a whiskey sour (for Helen) and a mule (for herself). Maybe that was the alcohol's fault. But more likely, and this is what she preferred: she was just happy. Like, honestly, totally happy. The high grew out of unfamiliarity as she'd always sort of enjoyed these events in a weird way, but she'd never been happy and completely comfortable at them. It was a rush. Beverly was next to her, trying to yell some story over the din of drinks orders, industry conversation, and live jazz music. It could be that she was self-absorbed, selfish, or just preoccupied but she felt a bit like a terrible friend not giving Beverly her full attention. There was just so much buzzing and happening inside her at the moment.

At least she noticed when Beverly went quiet and nudged her with an elbow. Looking around, none other than Merc Lapidus was stalking towards her like a fat, 3-legged lion. Was he drunk? Probably. Who wasn't at this point?

Her eyes darted around the immediate vicinity, in some sort of newfound habit of searching for Helen. Not out of fear, by the way. Not anymore. Out of want. She felt good, comfortable with Helen around, even if she was silent and the only thing that Carol could feel was a slight warmth radiating off of her.

“If it isn't my favourite girl!” he announced, coming closer with arms spread wide. She could hear Beverly's groan next to her and tried not to laugh, steeling herself already for the coming hug. At least it was brief. A bit of small talk took up too much time and she glanced at the bartender to see where her drinks were.

“So, you got it?”

His question came out as if its meaning was obvious but Carol literally had no idea what he was talking about. “What?” Had she asked for an award before?

“You don't remember?” Merc's face softened a little, eyes trying to read whether she was joking or not. He seemed genuinely confused by her lack do recognition. Maybe even a little hurt?

“Nope.”

“That night—”

A shiver swept up her spine and a grimaced, maybe a little too much considering but even the thought that Merc was about to bring up their history now was making her more than a little uncomfortable. Beverly shifted impatiently beside her, entirely aware of the situation.

“You know. Before my Man of the Year thing? You got all freaky upset about not being the one that got to kiss me—.”

“Okay, stop, please.” Carol was familiar. It'd been on her mind, sort of, the entire night but not with Merc's face lurking around the edges. Besides, thinking about kissing Merc at this point in her life filled her with something like dread, probably some shame too. Her voice got low. “I remember.”

Merc put a sweaty little hand on her shoulder, like an old school pal or a messed up father-like figure. Weird. “Well, you got what you always wanted, huh?”

The fact was he was completely and utterly correct. It was everything she had wanted back then and she had it now like some sort of fairy-tale. They never tell you when you're a kid that those perfect happy endings can come at 40-years-old instead of 21, so for way too long she'd thought she'd missed hers. And now here was Merc Lapidus, standing in front of her, looking like some sort of proud papa even though he had fuck all to do with any of it. (Of course, he'd find some way to take credit for them, she was sure.)

“How's it feel?” Was that genuine curiosity in his tone? Did he honestly care? And was it really so obvious that she had been completely preoccupied with how dreamlike this whole night had been so far? There was the distinct possibility that perhaps she had been walking around all night with a smug, smitten grin smeared across her lips and not realized it.

And there it was again, creeping out, irrepressible. Her voice wobbled a bit, more breathy than she had wanted. “Really good.”

“Well, you deserve it. I know this is Helen's night and all but, ya know. Congrats.”

Her eyes narrowed but the smile didn't quite falter because it was... nice? Yeah, it was nice for other people (especially ones that were responsible for so much crap in her life) to acknowledge her, well, bliss. She still wasn't used to people recognizing how different she was; she hadn't even realized she was to be honest. She just felt different; lighter, more relaxed on a daily basis. Never had she considered that other people would even notice that shift.

He said nothing more, just gave her another chaste pat on the arm like she felt her grandfather would have, had she known either grandfather—and then he winked and wandered back to Morning who couldn't be more in her element with men of all ages swooning over her at the other end of the bar.

Merc being a normal, kindly human being was only proof that this whole night was some sort of lovely dream and any moment she was going to wake up, in a cold bed—her bed, not Helen's—alone, wearing a worn out t-shirt that she stole from Helen years ago and feeling miserable. That's how these things always ended. After that, she'd usually cry a little and loathe her lonely life, perhaps call Beverly and whine for a while. Any minute... any minute she was going to wake up.

“Hey.”

That fucking voice. That gravelly timbre when it was just for her. That way it slid over her skin. She shuddered in pleasure, pleading with her brain to allow this dream to go on just a little longer.

“Hi,” She turned towards the sound, noticing the bartender had left the drinks on the bar and Beverly was watching over them like a wonderful mother bear with her cubs. For just a quick second, she caught her friend's smirk and tried not to smile widely in response. But Helen was magnetic and it was easy enough to resist the urge, instead focusing on the way her girlfriend glided right up close to her, placing a quick, soft kiss on her lips.

 _Fuck_.

She really didn't want this to be a dream. When she opened her eyes again, she was still standing at a bar, with Helen in front of her and a really sparkly bracelet on her wrist. Beverly was off to the side and when she pulled in close to Helen, surprising the older woman by gripping her waist, seeking just simple comfort of an embrace. From inside the hug, she looked over a bare shoulder and Beverly smiled, gently.

“The good part,” she mouthed, gesturing to the two of them and Carol felt herself pull Helen even tighter, letting a sigh out in relief that this wasn't going to be on of those nightmares after all. This was real.

 

 


	4. One Year Later

Juggling three bags of groceries between two arms, Helen wrestled with her purse, trying to find her damn keys. She wasn't entirely sure that ringing that goddamn doorbell would make much of a difference as Carol often tuned the thing out. She hated it so much, once going to the extent of pulling the fuse in the basement. Of course, that also zapped the power to the TV in the living room and Beachfront Househunters had been on so it hadn't been that much of a loss. By the time Love It or List It normally graced the television screen hours later, she'd given in and flipped the fuse back on.

She wasn't sure when exactly it happened that Carol had become that comfortable in her house to just help herself to the fusebox and randomly disconnect the electricity throughout the building. It was probably somewhere between her taking over the bathroom with all her cheap moisturizers and putting her own house up on the rental market. (When Carol had printed out the listing, dropping it nonchalantly on Helen's desk, the older woman was pretty certain she'd had a mini-stroke.)

That was about a month ago. Now occasionally an Amazon package or DVD screener came to her (their?) house addressed to Carol as well. Nothing had been made official, or really talked about that much. But it was pretty clear what was happening. (Fucking finally, in Helen's opinion. She would have had it this way 6 months ago, at least. But both her shrink and that little voice in her head reminded her about last time she'd rushed things and the resulting chaos of impatience.)

Eventually she wrangled the heavy door open, kicked it loudly and groaning as a banana threatened to escape from the bag. “Honey?” she called into the emptiness, the frustration lacing her tone slightly.

There were voices in the other room, unfamiliar ones. She'd become accustomed to Beverly Lincoln or Carol's lovely brother who lived in Ventura, and had grown closer to his sister recently. (“The gay one. Not the cute one.” as he was most commonly known.) Once it had been Andy, which had been a slightly unwelcome surprise as she didn't like to make a habit of opening her house to mere coworkers if she could help it. But he was something resembling a friend of Carol's now so that was the way it had to be. And in all honesty, by the time he left, she could sort of understand the appeal of having him around, in small doses. Very small ones.

In her hallway there were two pairs of shoes that she was certain nobody in LA would ever wear. Well, not from their area anyway. _Nobody_ wore those here.

Grumbling to herself about having company, she awkwardly lugged all three bags into the kitchen where, unbeknownst to her, members of Carol's immediate family were having a serious looking meeting.

There was a blonde woman at her island, chugging coffee by the pot-full it appeared. Her face was leathered, stained by too much sun and wrinkled just the same. Frizzled bleach blonde hair thinned out over her head and she wore mascara that was clumping at the end of her lashes. When the coffee mug wasn't attached to her face, her voice was grizzled and tired sounding, like those women who used to work in dive bars where smoking was still allowed. Beside this stranger was another woman and by the look of her, it was Carol if she had never left the Midwest. A belly full of baby and a perm from perhaps 1997 filled out the profile. She seemed nice enough all the same.

When Helen caught Carol's eyes, there was a definite panic there and her own annoyance at the sudden company evaporated. This wasn't a planned visit. Helen dumped their groceries down on the counter beside the fridge, a little more roughly than intended and that fucking banana managed to finally make a run for it. She let it fall to the floor, rolling her eyes at it before stooping down.

“You must be the roommate,” said the hoarse voice between glugs of black coffee.

Now that got Helen's attention. Her eyebrows may have just jumped off her scalp at the term. “Roommate?” There was no point hiding her shock at not only the fact that she hadn't heard that word since the age of 19 in college, but more so, the idea that a woman of her age and stature would actually have a roommate. A roommate! At 45 years old with a 7 figure salary. Carol desperately attempted to intercept the trajectory of the conversation with a stutter but this woman, whom could only be assumed to be her rather unfortunate mother, was insistent and loud.

“Yeah, aren't you, hun?”

The other daughter was meekly quiet, just watching the exchange, possibly tired, possibly embarrassed. Maybe this was a test? Maybe it was some sort of Michiganian way to judge the emotional fitness of an offspring's mate. She had no idea what life was like in Michigan, really. Would they do something like this? Resisting the overwhelming urge to snap, Helen sighed and only half-rolled her eyes.

“No.”

“Housekeeper?”

Fuck this woman. Okay, so it's not like she was dressed in work clothes, but come on. Au pair at most, like one of those older women from some Eastern European shithole who had the choice between working for an intolerable rich, white American bitch with 3 spoiled brats she didn't care about or setting up shop in a low-budget porn studio in some Serbian flophouse. Was that mean? She didn't know a lot about Eastern Europe either apparently. Michigan and Serbia seemed equally foreign, if she was totally honest with herself.

A smirk took over her face, a bit amused. “You're fucking with me.” Maybe it was a question. She hoped it was her figuring out the trick instead.

The talking leather jacket laughed, gruffly until she lost it in a fit of coughing. The only thing that halted the coming asthma attack was another huge slurp of coffee.

“Mom, she's—.”

Carol was cut off abruptly. “I know, sweetheart. I've already got one of those gays in the family.”

Both Helen and Carol stiffened defensively, and she could feel her girlfriend move closer, perhaps in solidarity or maybe fear. It didn't really matter because Carol's mother didn't even seem to notice there was anything remotely wrong in her approach. Turning to her as her mother focused on pouring herself another mug of pure caffeine, Carol whispered, pleadingly, “Please be patient.” It could also have been a warning about what else was to come.

She caught Carol's sister's stare as she nodded, placing a gentle hand on Carol's arm.

“I'm Helen,” she stated, hand outstretched and wasn't surprised to find the older woman's fingers felt as bony and calloused as she had expected.

“Barb.”

Of course.

She turned towards the silent stranger instead. “Helen.” This time she genuinely tried to be nice and give off warm vibes, as best she could. She didn't want to lump Carol's whole family in with this woman whom she'd heard mostly challenging things about. Carol rarely even talked about her sister. (That could be a good or bad thing.) She'd give the woman the benefit of the doubt, especially since she hadn't joined her mother in the previous little game.

“Joy.” Okay, that was sort of cute. Carol and Joy. She'd known that of course, maybe. Surely at one point Carol must have named her siblings but there was some sort of fog around this sister. She'd gone on at length about her two brothers (Matthew and Dave, yes, she knew that much). The woman, possibly older than Carol, smiled in return, shyly. Could be apologetically.

“So, you're the girlfriend then?” Barb piped up, sniffing loudly, with a particular low tone that Helen couldn't place but it was very similar to displeasure. A forced smile peeked out from dry lips.

Helen glanced at the bags, wondering when the chocolate ice-cream was going to start melting. “That is what they call me,” she muttered, distracted by the thought of brown, milky Haagen-Dazs dripping down the front of her oak cabinets.

“Well, that's nice.” Nothing about the way Barb said the word was nice. Either something was stuck inbetween her teeth and she was working to loosen it, or she really, really had a problem with the idea. “Not exactly Carol's type, are ya?” Okay, she didn't seem to have anything in her mouth other than strong coffee breath and bitterness. “She's never really...”

“Mom.” Carol closed her eyes, her hands gripping the corner of the counter tightly, her knuckles turning white with the pressure. There was a low growl in her voice that was incredibly rare. In fact, in the year they'd been together (for real), she'd only heard it twice. Once it was in relation to some monumentally terrible decision Garrett, the marketing director, had made resulting in a plummet of their ratings and positive press for two weeks. The other time it had been directed at Helen herself, during a particularly bad argument which in retrospect, probably was almost all her fault. Almost. Now, it was thrown towards her less-than-endearing mother figure.

A silence draped slowly over the room, broken only occasionally by Barb's slurping of coffee and smacking her lips in that fucking irritating way that would drive even a patient person up the wall. And Helen wasn't exactly known for her patience.

Helen managed to grab Carol's attention for a brief moment, offering the only thing she could: a small, sympathetic smile. She turned her attention away from the interlopers in her kitchen and back to the more important task of putting away all the groceries before the ice-cream melted all over everything. Joy took up the opportunity to fill Carol in on something to do with her husband, who was being seen by an internal medicine specialist about whatever ailment was affecting him. Having missed the beginning of the tale, Helen wasn't interested in eavesdropping on the rest of it, instead focusing all her effort (and simmering annoyance) on her shopping as the women murmured about livers or kidneys or intestines. Something digestive.

She was almost at the bottom of the last bag when Barb's rasping voice interrupted her daughters, loudly and rudely at that. “Funny how first I got a little fag, now I've got a dyke, huh? What's up with that?”

Ah. Casual homophobia. How endearing a trait in a potential mother-in-law. (Yes. Helen had thought that far along. Of course she had... but only ever mentioned it to her shrink.)

“Okay, Barb,” Helen groaned, swinging around to face the older woman, face to face. “I get that you're from Michigan, and that maybe you haven't caught up to the rest of the world yet—”

“Hey!” Carol whined just a little, still protective of the state she grew up, despite never once saying anything positive about it in all their conversations. Helen suspected the defensiveness had more to do with her sister than Michigan itself, because really? Michigan?

“But!” Helen continued, “But we're in California in 2018 right now and you're more than welcome to make people feel like shit or use that sort of language wherever you'd like—except my house.” Carol was shifting back and forth on her feet to Helen's left, nervous as fuck. Quite frankly, Helen, for once, gave very little concern to Carol's feelings about her mother at the moment because it all came out like an attack against them both. She'd been around long enough to fend off attacks but Carol was still new to it all, especially in front of her own family. “If you'd like to continue talking like that, feel free to get out.”

It was so quiet they could hear the whistling of air through Barb's cigarette-damaged nostrils as she wildly attempted to figure out how to respond. Helen's shoulders squared, arms crossed, and leaned a hip against the island, waiting. It was a well-practised pose she'd used more times than she could remember in all sorts of managerial roles.

Instead of saying anything, Barb pushed out the stool, sliding from it without a word. In all fairness, her grey eyes remained locked on Helen until she was standing on both feet. She tapped a cigarette from a pack in her pocket, placed it in her mouth purposefully and wandered out the room. Not long after did they hear the front door slam.

Joy and Carol winced in tandem but there was something approaching a kind of tentative relief on Carol's face. Her sister pushed her own mug around idly, clearly aching to say something but it wouldn't be the first time Helen Basch had scared someone into silence.

“You know,” she began, not meeting Helen's stare immediately. “I think Mom is disappointed. She wanted something for Carol that... Well, she expected her to marry some powerful rich guy and now that's...” Joy trailed off, knowing that there was no good way to end that sentence. Ignorance aside, Helen bristled all the same.

“Is your mother, and I'm not being facetious here, aware that it's not 1965 anymore?” The idea that any woman needed a man to be successful was as outdated as the shoulder pads in the jacket she had been wearing. “Does she know that Carol is an actual highly-paid, highly-regarded executive VP of a national broadcasting network?”

Carol took a big gulp from her own mug of coffee, obviously trying to distance herself from the conversation, never having been one to be great with receiving compliments.

Joy nodded slowly, not totally convinced it appeared.

“And, not that it's really any of your mother's business, but I'm the president of that network with an awful lot of money myself.” She refrained from adding in that she would marry Joy's neurotic younger sister in a fucking heartbeat if the opportunity ever presented itself. That should solidify it all. There was nothing irresponsible, or unmanageable, or tenuous about their relationship as it stood and to think a man (especially with Carol's track record of loser bosses) would somehow outweigh all that got under her skin like nothing else.

There was something prickly, something that made her felt insecure and frustrated that Carol would be anything less than happy with her, about the whole line of questioning, and the assumptions. She knew it didn't honestly matter what anybody except Carol thought but she was also aware of the influence family had on decisions. Nothing at all felt good about being looked at like a consolation prize that Carol had to settle for, or worse even, not good enough.

“You should definitely tell my mother that,” Joy stated, finally letting a smirk slip out at the same time Helen felt Carol slide a soft hand down her back, comforting, reassuring. It was as good as hearing “I love you” out loud. (Which again, she needn't have worried about since Carol was quite forthcoming with that sentiment now that the ice had been broken months ago.)

Either Barb was a competitive chain smoking champion or the withered old woman didn't actually finish her cigarette because she waltzed back in after no time as if she hadn't just been handed her ass on a plate. The walking antique suitcase stared at her and Carol for a prolonged minute, noting Carol's hand resting against the small of Helen's back, occasionally rubbing small circles of support.

“Mom,” Carol began, gripping the fabric of Helen's shirt into a fist. “Please don't be an asshole.”

She slithered back onto the stool, with everyone's eyes still locked on her and reached for the cold coffee again. “Well, Helen,” Barb started, slowly. “You're very protective of my baby girl. And you clearly care about her. And she deserves someone like that.” She snorted, a disgusting phlegm-y sound. “She's had a lot of shit—like a lot of shit—so seems like she'd finally got to the good part of her story and who am I...” she trailed off. "If she's happy, that's all there is to it, huh?"

Well, it was a start. And Helen intended to see it through to the finish.

 


	5. Eighteen Months Later

They'd done so much of it already. They'd had the first big fight. The moving in together. The meeting of the kids. The meeting of the family. The redecorating. The long periods of silence where nobody said anything and that was just fine. The coming and going from work in the same car. The longing phone conversations when one of them was out of town. The 1 year anniversary. The big gala appearances. The first Christmas/Hanukkah, first New Years, first birthdays together. Everything except, well, the big one. Oh, and the big business trip abroad. Sure, they'd gone to a few conferences, some meetings, the upfronts in New York but getting them both available to leave the office for extended periods of time for a proper holiday just hadn't been possible, especially in the months since Carol's promotion. That was the one thing nobody warned her about.

At this point, it was the only thing Helen even wanted but leaving the network with nobody in charge seemed like a total recipe for disaster. The last thing they needed was for the whole thing to get fucked up again and it would take another 2 years to dig it out of any hole it ended up in. It's not like it would be impossible, it just wasn't advisable.

And then The Box got such stellar ratings that Elliot wanted to sign it for another 2 seasons already, except he was dying for a twist, some sort of change to keep it interesting. (As if Matt LeBlanc's antics over the past 2 years hadn't been enough. There was only so much masturbating on live TV that the censors and lawyers could handle.) When Merc had put in for research overseas, Helen had stared at the form for a really long time. She had put it aside, glanced at it every so often, and just before Christmas break, she signed off on it.

It was a really slow time anyway. Lots of reruns and Christmas movies and marathons of their top shows for days on end. It would really be the right time to take a break herself and that stupid little idiot had given her the most perfect excuse, mostly because she could write it off herself. (Not that she had to. It just was more fun that way. Why else be the boss if you couldn't treat yourself now and again? It's not like the multi-billion dollar network would even notice.)

On Christmas morning, she had placed an envelope next to Carol as she had her morning coffee on the sofa in front of a holiday marathon of House Hunters.

 

And so here they were: In a hugely comfortable bed, butt-naked, with the wisps of legal cannabis floating around their heads, in a toasty serviced flat in Amsterdam on New Years Eve. Carol was giggling beside her, sprawled out under the heavy duvet as the TV blathered on in Dutch about something or other that neither of them understood.

“This is great,” she murmured, reaching out to grab Helen's hand.

Helen chuckled in response and rolled over, clambering a little inexpertly on top of Carol's prone form. Her eyes felt itchy and her mouth too dry but that didn't even matter at the moment cos finally they were on holiday, together, far far away from that fucking office and work in general. Except for the days when they actually had to do work. Her mouth found Carol's pulse point with ease and she felt the groan that rippled up from Carol's toes, leaving her trembling just a little. God, she felt so fucking good.

“Happy?” she purred, kissing down her neck.

Carol's hands slowly threaded through her caramel hair, holding her closer and letting out that little kitten moan that drove Helen fucking crazy. “Mmmm, _very_.”

This is how it had been for going on 3 days now. It was actually pretty damn amazing what getting away from work and the office and the incessant worrying about budget numbers and ratings and production deadlines did for their sex life. And Carol seemed like she was on cloud 9 from the moment she'd opened the envelope with their itinerary from the travel agent. In fact, the silly woman had actually teared up a little, which made no sense really but then again, Carol became emotional about the oddest things sometimes. It wasn't until their 2nd night in Amsterdam as they were strolling arm in arm along the canals (and pushing through the drunken throngs of tourists gawking at window-dwelling prostitutes under red lights that reminded her more of the heating lamps at Burger King) that Carol admitted that the whole trip was a really big deal for her. She hadn't really elaborated but mentioned something in passing about how she'd never got this with anyone, ever. It seemed particularly idiotic that Merc Lapidus hadn't treated her to any vacation at all... but then again, Merc was a special brand of half-witted dickhead.

Earlier in the evening, Helen had brought her to a tiny traditional Dutch restaurant hidden off some small alley and Carol had got all misty-eyed again when the main course arrived at the table. She had taken a sip of wine, and begun blathering on about all sorts of things that Helen had a hard time following with any semblance of logic and it became blatantly obvious that the poor woman had never been treated well... ever. It's not like it was the first time they'd ever been out for a romantic dinner but maybe it was the atmosphere, the coziness and novelty of the venue, or maybe just the wine, but Carol was positively bursting.

On the way back to the flat, as the lights twinkled off the canals and the quaint sound of bicycles echoed around them, Helen had idly fingered the small ring box in her purse. When would it ever be the right time? She couldn't think of a better one, to be honest. But still, their relationship was technically still young and Carol was still skittish occasionally and despite all the big steps they'd made, there had been no indication that such a massively huge leap would be appreciated, let alone tolerated.

Instead, she'd let the box fall back into the depths of her purse and took Carol's hand instead. A few minutes from their flat, all thoughts of a romantic European proposal had leapt from Helen's mind as Carol nudged her, at first gently and then a little more roughly until they were pressed up against the brick facade of some poor sap's house, with Carol's lips against hers.

Insatiable could have been the word to describe the woman since landing at Schiphol and that appeared to have no chance of slowing down, even now in the quiet peace of their flat.

“I don't know if I've ever been this happy in my whole life.” Carol's voice came out breathless and soft, as if she hadn't even noticed she'd said it out loud. Her leg tingled as Carol thrust just slightly, grinding herself on Helen's thigh with a quiet moan, urging Helen to do more.

“You are going to be the death of me, you know that?” Helen growled, still occasionally taken aback by the reality that Carol Rance was literally undulating beneath her, mewling and digging her fingers into her skin with want. For a moment, Helen shuddered, distracted really, remembering the whole reason they were here in the first place. Fucking Merc Lapidus and his stupid game show. Jesus. Maybe a few bogus rumours about a swastika tattoo were worth it after all if this is what came out of it.

 

 

Some Dutch instant coffee scent wafted around the apartment as Helen stepped out from the ensuite and into the minimalist living space. She paused momentarily, leaning against the doorframe (of a place where there should maybe actually be a door but wasn't), and quietly watched as Carol puttered around the tiny kitchen area, wearing nothing but pale pink boxers and a very familiar blue t-shirt. Her hair was pulled back in a scrunchie, for obvious reasons of course, and Helen couldn't really help herself from staring.

Sure, this is exactly what she had in mind all those many, many months ago when she'd pursued Carol initially but still part of her couldn't quite believe it was actually reality. Something about this whole domestic fantasy felt like it could never actually happen for her, especially the longer she had been single and the more girlfriends she had gone through. Something Ed has said during their left a bruising mark on her ego, but more so, her mind. After taking the house from under him, she had brushed off the words, thinking they were only the sort of raving obscenities of an angry, humiliated man. But as time had worn on (and worn her down), they floated around, haunting every attempt at a human relationship she forged. The specifics were never really important but it was just the notion that they may be true was what hurt because she often did feel like he was right; she was, in essence, unlovable. That's why everybody important always left her. Calling it “abandonment issues” didn't really do the whole fucked up thing justice.

Carol had always been in her periphery, sort of just lingering on the edges of awareness. First as some ditz at her husband's office that she only had the vaguest sense of existing, then occasionally at social and business functions but never fully a person. Then as they both worked their ways up through the industry, there had been more opportunity to bump into one another, over and over. But again, it was nothing. Just an acquaintance at a boring executive function, even if there had been a time or two that Helen had noticed just how well Carol's dress fit or how pretty her eyes were in a certain glow of the patio lights. But that was all fucking stupid bullshit, the kind of shit that moony idiot teenagers do and she had never once entertained that it could ever turn into _this_. Not until Carol was sitting next to her, eating those stale-ass jellybeans, stoned, and prying into her personal life.

Her mind slipped away into the abyss of her purse and thought about the stupid ring in there because seriously? She could wake up to this for the rest of her life and never be sick of it. Carol could be old and wrinkly and that t-shirt could be faded and full of holes and she would still be the most beautiful thing in the world. But Ed's voice still sneaked out at times like this, just when she was feeling most lucky.

And it killed her a little bit every time.

“Morning,” Carol's voice was quite perky for the time of day. She smiled a little, her brows knotting in mild confusion. “Whatcha doing?”

Helen pushed herself off the doorframe and wandered slowly towards the coffee pot, her bare feet feeling cold on the hardwood floors. “Nothing.” Her hands found a mug, everything in her body acting as if on autopilot. By the look on Carol's face, something was a bit off but Helen couldn't quite face whatever it was at the moment. She suspected it was her, of course. (It normally was.)

The hot liquid drained into the boring IKEA mug like molasses, too slowly. But maybe that was just her perception because Carol certainly wasn't acting oddly. Finally, she put the mug down on the counter with a bang, ignoring the milk and sugar. Carol jumped a little at the loud sound and her eyes went wide, obviously searching for the cause of whatever was going wrong.

“What?”

 _Please don't leave_. “Nothing.”

“Nothing?” And that was it. Carol knew. She always knew. She wouldn't have repeated the word with such disbelief if she didn't.

 _I'm so goddamn scared._ “Seriously, don't worry. It's nothing.” She forced out a short laugh that was far too clipped to sound legitimate. “I think I'm just tired.”

There was a long moment where Carol said nothing. She merely stared, through narrowed eyes, and tight-lipped. Until she reached around and grabbed the milk, pouring some into Helen's cup and tossing a bit of sugar as well. “Okay.” She shook her head. “Well, we have that meeting with the Dutch Box people this morning so...”

Helen nodded absently, not really worrying about a meeting because that shit? She could do it in her sleep. But _this_? Whatever the fuck was happening in her head right at this moment? Well, that was a little more fucking complicated.

 _I have no clue what I'm doing and I'm going to fuck this up again._ She stared down at the prepared coffee, done by a very concerned girlfriend and suddenly felt the hot burning behind her eyes. _I'm fucking terrified._

“Why do you love me?” _SHIT_. That wasn't supposed to actually escape her brain and it really wasn't supposed to sound so damn hostile. The tone, let alone the question, was all Carol needed to back away a bit, concern changing into something a bit less recognisable.

Carol placed her own coffee down, biting down on her bottom lip for a second as she took at a seat at the kitchen table. “What?” A nervous hand brushed back her blonde hair. “I don't get... What is up with you?”

Shaking her head to clear away Ed's taunts, and whatever other crap was messing up her morning routine, she took a long sip of coffee. It wasn't really that good but it would do as a distraction for the moment, and well, beggars couldn't be choosers. “Nevermind, nevermind. Forget it.” She wasn't tired. She wasn't even slightly groggy from just waking up. There was literally no excuse in the world she could force out that would fool Carol even a little bit because the woman was brilliant. A bit anxious at times, but fucking brilliant and amazing and hers and here? Like, really here. In the same silly Amsterdam flat, sitting at a cheap table in Helen's blue James Perse t-shirt that she loved so much, watching her like there was going to be some big breakdown. The only thing that would change that would be Helen's going nuts again, and they both knew it.

Running a hand over her face, she attempted to block out the fear and the invasive thoughts that led down the one-way path to sabotage. “It's fine.”

A quirk of an eyebrow was all she got in response as Carol watched carefully, like she was a feral cat in a cage.

“Seriously. Okay. I'm fine.” Maybe saying it a few more times would make it come true.

Helen took a few steps, coffee in hand, and slid into a seat adjacent to her now thoroughly perturbed girlfriend. She let out a long, long sigh as they both lapsed into a contemplative, if strained, silence.

“You're my good part.”

It was Helen's turn to be caught off-guard this morning and she met Carol's gaze head on. What did that even mean? When Carol really was being honest, she tended to try to distract herself with things, to glance away as if saying the truth straight on was too much pressure, especially when it had to do with them. It was a sort of shyness, but more so, it seemed to come from unfamiliarity with confronting feelings so openly. And that's how Helen knew just how real things were. This time she ran a finger around the rim of her mug, laughing nervously.

“I... Okay, so, you know how people always say you have to go through shit to get to the good stuff, and sometimes, like, you wonder if you'll ever get there?”

“Yes.” And Helen actually did know. Really well. Too well. She'd been living a similar hell and wondering similar things. And her heart broke just a little bit for Carol because over the year she'd come to know just how fucking awful most of her life had truly been.

“ _You're_ my good part. All that shit was what I had to do to get here. I have literally—literally!—never been this happy in my whole life. I didn't even know I could be. You know that.” She smiled a little, nervously. “Just ask Beverly. She'll tell you the whooole thing.”

With a nonchalant wave, Helen smiled. She didn't need to hear Beverly backing up Carol's story. There was no reason to doubt it at all and instead she pulled her chair closer, and leaned in. “I love you so much.” She touched their lips briefly. “Just don't let me fuck it up.”

 


	6. Three Years Later

“Oh god. Oh god!”

“You're going to be fine. It's all going to be fine. I don't even see why you're so worried in the first place.”

“But what if—”

“But nothing. Do you want this or not?”

Carol nodded frantically. Beverly handed back the water bottle and waited.

 

 

This had sort of become a ritual, this Saturday morning hike up through Griffith Park. Of course, she and Beverly had always done it to some degree but Saturday mornings was the time when the three of them would all hike together. Just like that first Saturday when she'd invited Helen along in the haze of post-orgasmal nerves. Now the three of them, if possible, met up for a hike in the morning, maybe had brunch afterwards, and generally behaved as friends would—if two of the friends were fucking each other and in love for 3 years, that is.

It was different today however because something was happening. She didn't exactly know how to explain it or where it had come from. It just happened and it scared the shit out of her, yet sort of felt exactly perfect. Beverly was on one side of her and Helen the other as they casually chatted about some casting decision at a rival network for a rival TV show. Did Carol care? Nope, not really. She'd been oddly quiet for most of the hike once Helen had shown up. (Again, it had been a weird day where they hadn't actually come together because there was something happening with one of Helen's idiot friends that required her assistance at the ungodly time of 6AM. Something about a kid. Carol honestly did not give even the slightest fuck because she had her own shit to worry about.)

3 years. 3 whole years. She'd been with this woman for longer than she had ever imagined was possible to be with a person (and not as the side piece of some sordid office affair). It's not like she hadn't fantasized about it, but more in an abstract sense. Not her. Not Helen. Not 3 years for real. But the years had snuck up on her without even noticing and suddenly that law firm bathroom seemed like a lifetime ago in some gritty, dark period drama. This was longer than most of Merc's marriages. This was longer than she'd even been able to keep a goldfish alive.

And she was still happy.

She knew, as they rounded the bend up top that the moment would be coming any minute. And it did. Helen shook her own waterbottle with an air of irritation and then glanced up at the hot, bright sun overhead. Not a fluffy white cloud in sight as per usual and Carol sucked in a deep breath, waiting.

“Have any water left?” Gone were the days of pretending they didn't want something from the other. No cute little insinuations. Now, it was straightforward and efficient.

Hopefully Helen wouldn't notice how much her hands were shaking as she passed her the drink. She certainly felt like her legs were going to give out any second, and the way Helen was completely oblivious somehow made the whole thing worse. She couldn't help slowing the pace as Helen raised the bottle up to her lips.

It made a strange and unexpected thunk sound which caused Helen to stop dead in her tracks as well. Carol caught a knowing look from Beverly and just for a minute, she felt at ease with the whole situation. But as Helen's brow furrowed and scowl passed over her lips, Carol felt the burgeoning pressure of nausea rising up her throat. Helen clicked a few times at the spout, and turned the bottle upside down, shaking it again, hard, as if it would make some sort of difference. Again, Carol winced.

“Maybe something's stuck,” Beverly suggested softly, knowing it wasn't really her place to get involved but if this had any chance of working, they couldn't have Helen pissed off by a broken, shitty waterbottle.

Her girlfriend hummed in distracted agreement, and twisted off the lid, flipping it upside down before glancing into the cup.

And that's when it happened. Beverly gently took the lid from Helen, leaving her a free hand for what was coming next. Carol shifted back and forth on her heels, resisting the urge to scratch manically at what she suspected were hives popping up along her shoulders. Instead, she gripped her own hands together twisting her fingers into knots and digging her fingernails into her palms. Was she even breathing anymore? It sure didn't feel like it.

“What is this?” Helen sighed, her tone a whole octave higher than normal but unusually soft. She turned the cup upside down and tapped until a small box dropped into her hand. Beverly reached out again and slipped the cup from Helen's grip like the dutiful assistant she said she would be.

Yeah, she definitely wasn't breathing and her pulse felt like it was going so fast her heart would burst any second. Why couldn't Helen hurry the hell up and figure it out? She was going to have a massive coronary in about 2 minutes if things didn't change. It was a velvet box. How much more of a hint did the fucking woman need?

“What are you two idiots up to?” Helen stared for a moment at Beverly, her eyebrow raised and suspicious, maybe in an amused way. Lovely, wonderful Beverly said nothing and merely returned her glare with a close-lipped smile and a shrug. When Helen's eyes met hers, her blood pressure plummeted and she sucked in a deep, ragged breath trying as hard as fuck not to faint. “You don't look so good, honey.”

That's when Carol realised Helen was wearing that purple t-shirt from all those years ago when they'd broken up. What a terrible omen. She should have seen that first and delayed this whole plan for another day. Exasperated and with her anxiety at an all time high, she couldn't restrain herself as her voice squeaked out. “Just open the fucking box!”

It seemed like a perfect time to throw herself off the cliff's edge.

Shutting up quickly, Helen stared at the tiny box in her hand, then back up at Carol, then back at the box. “Oh.”

The moment everything clicked seemed to pass way too quickly and Carol thought she actually may have missed it completely because the box was open, the ring sparkling in the mid-morning sun, and Helen's face was one of complete... disbelief? Really? When had that happened? She didn't appear to know what to do or what any of this meant.

Now would be a super time for Beverly to intervene in this most awkward proposal. Of course it was this way. Carol couldn't think of anything she'd be less prepared for than this whole fucking scenario. Yep, there was that damn itch again.

“Is this...?”

Her voice came out strangled. “Yep. Surprise?”

“Holy shit.”

Still, neither of them moved until some trembling part of Carol launched into action, reaching for the box and pulling out the ring that she'd spent a little too much money on, to be honest. She held it out, only seeing then how much her hand was shaking. “So, will you...?”

Helen was oddly hesitant and truthfully, Carol hadn't actually expected this sort of resigned, confused reaction. “Marry you?”

She nodded. “Yeah.”

There was quiet except for the rush of a flock of birds as they flew by, and a few boisterous voices down the trail somewhere, hopefully far away.

“I've wanted to marry you for almost as long as we've been together,” Helen finally said, her voice breaking close to tears. “There's nothing else I want.” She shifted closer, a bashful smile quirking her lips and eyeing Carol up and down, her gaze coming to rest on the ring still clenched between the blonde's fingers. Carol felt the heat radiating off of her soon-to-be or possibly already fiancée and when Helen leant into her ear, she could feel the shiver of pleasure sweep swiftly up her back. “You're _my_ good part. And I never want that to end.”

All the times she'd rehearsed it in her head, it had played out much differently. Smoother. More romantic. It started with not being so damn awkward and tense and ended up with ecstatic joy, tears, huge laughter, everything she'd seen in TV shows.

Instead, it was much quieter. No huge outbursts of overwhelming emotion or screaming at decibel levels beyond human hearing. It felt more intimate somehow, even despite the fact they were standing in a public park on a very well-trafficked trail and basically with the whole city of Los Angeles on display below them.

Without another second of hesitation, Helen slipped the ring on her own finger and stared at it, only briefly. When she met Carol's nervous gaze again, there was a look there that she'd never seen before. She'd seen all sorts of emotions on Helen in the past few years and frankly, she'd thought she'd seen them all from aggressively pissed off to passively indifferent to bubbling with happiness. Now there was a glint in her honeyed hazel eyes, something new and it threw Carol off a bit because she hadn't been expecting it at all.

It looked like Helen had found everything she'd been searching for her whole life, and Carol struggled to breathe in. Nobody had ever, ever, _ever_ looked at her that way before, at least never that she'd noticed. Fuck the ring and all the romantic gestures of love that people did. She didn't give a shit about any of that if she could just freeze this moment into her memory until she died. It was worth more than any piece of jewellery or any house in Malibu or any executive VP salary at a national television network. Okay, maybe not to other people and she certainly couldn't pay her atrocious Amex bill with it, but seriously, to her, it was all that she hadn't even realized she needed. It went beyond her poor conception of wanting and graduated somewhere along the way to basic, inborn need.

“I've been waiting to ask you for years. We never really talked about—I wasn't sure if you—”

Carol shook her head abruptly, waving her hands for added emphasis. “I want to be your wife. That's all.”

That was the moment the tears came. She wasn't sure who started it first but she saw them on Helen before she felt them trailing down her own cheeks. They were complimented by the huge smile that she'd had plastered on for so long that her cheeks were beginning to ache. But she couldn't stop. Not for a second. Not until Helen lunged at her, pulling her in tightly and slamming their lips together and for a brief second Carol felt something cold against her jaw where Helen's left hand was resting. That was the ring! They were actually fucking doing this and something about the whole ordeal felt surreal, like she was in that dream again where she'd wake up alone and cold. Gripping snugly onto Helen's t-shirt (that stupid purple horrible one) she begged whatever weird deities existed to let her have this. Just this. Just Helen. She goddamn deserved it by now.

“God, I love you, Scrunch.” She sighed when Carol eventually pulled back. “But seriously, do we have any water?”

Beverly stepped forwards with hers and smug little smile on her face too, holding out a full bottle. “I knew there was a reason I came along.”

 


	7. Five Years Later (Give or take. Who was really counting anymore?)

A light scent of eucalyptus and mimosa trees wafted towards her as Carol opened the restaurant doors and walked out onto the night-covered boulevard. There was something special about Los Angeles in the evenings in September that brought a certain buzz to her life. Maybe it was the beginning of a new TV season and all the promise that held and all the drama that was about to ensue for the next few months. But maybe it was the way the streets we quieter than summer but the nights still warm and inviting. Maybe it was how the good things in her life all seemed to happen around this time. It wasn't an official anniversary and nobody really knew but she noticed how this now was her longest ever relationship. Longer than any ill-conceived affair. Her wedding band glinted under the spotlight as she held the door open for some of their friends, exchanging good-natured goodbyes and promises to get to together again soon.

Sean and Beverly had made their escape earlier, claiming that their hit TV show had to take priority over another bottle of red wine. Helen was lost somewhere behind after picking up the cheque and schmoozing with a New York affiliate sponsor. There was always work to be done, even on a beautiful, warm Friday night in Brentwood.

She waved goodbye to Elise from Drama Dev and pulled her scarf a bit tighter just to block out the very light breeze sweeping down the street. She was lost in staring at the glowing neon sign in the shop window across the road when she felt a tap on her shoulder. Expecting it to be one of their dinner guests, she turned with a laugh only to be met with a particularly uncomfortable surprise.

Castor Sotto stood there in another stupid, ill-fitting cardigan that did nothing for his shoulders but otherwise looked no different than the last time she had seen him, over 5 years previously. Fool me once, fool me twice... She plastered on the fake work smile she'd become so accustomed to in awkward situations and glancing quickly for Helen who still stuck was in a throng of coworkers requiring her attention.

“Carol?”

She took a deep breath. _I could kill you._ “Oh my god, hi. Long time no see.” That was a very mild way to put it as she recalled the last time they'd spoken. It had been him telling her to come down to The CW on a Wednesday morning for her new _amazing_ job—the job that had never even existed and totally fucked her over on a massive level. He'd been full of way too many unrealistic promises in retrospect and she really should have known better. But she was certain that most other people in her situation would have done the same, wouldn't they?

Okay, maybe not but she wasn't going to let that get in the way of her excuses.

“Obviously, apologies are in order,” he started, sounding only mildly more genuine than the last time and she had a hard time believing that he was back on his meds. Last time he'd seemed so sane too.

“Obviously.” The bite in her tone surprised even her and he took a step back, raising a hand in surrender.

At that moment, Helen appeared, touching Carol's arm lightly and barely giving a glance in Castor's direction. “I'm going to get the car.” She clearly forced a tight-lipped smile towards him as she left. “Castor.”

He nodded, not quite meeting her eyes. “Helen.” But she was gone before the second syllable made it past his lips. “Wow, she hates me, huh?”

“Mmm.” There had already been a slew of run-ins with ex-lovers that Carol had to go through but this one was being especially unbearable because she had no desire to catch up on old times or have him know anything at all about her life as it was now. He was fucking crazy. Literally. Who knew what he'd do next.

“Can't really blame her, I guess. I did poach her best exec.” _Yeah. That was the problem_. She sighed and he poked Carol's shoulder with a finger resulting in a reticent scowl on her part. Did he think they were pals? Did he seriously not realize the total bullshit he'd put her through? As if she'd forget something like that. Well, she could and had forgotten a lot and forgiven some even worse shit but that... she just had no need to.

Carol shifted. Where was the fucking car? “For an imaginary job,” she reminded him, her voice low and holding at vague threat. They were not going to be friends, even if she knew he was sick and it wasn't truly his fault. It still didn't erase the humiliation and terrible professional decisions that had come along with it.

“Fair enough. I deserve that.” He clapped his hands together and it was pretty terrifying how completely sane and normal he came off. Nope, she wouldn't fall for it for a third time. “For what it's worth, I really am sorry. Again.” When Carol refused to further the conversation with any sort of response other than a raised eyebrow, he winced, looking down at his feet for a moment. “There's no excuse. Anyway, I heard you're doing great, you know, at the network. At least you got that back.”

 _No thanks to you_ , she growled to herself trying to think of some way to extricate herself from this awkward encounter without being too mean. Like, it wasn't really fair to take all her frustration about that time period out on him. There had been numerous people to blame for all the shit that went down, Helen most of all, really. And look how that had turned out. “Right.”

He shifted a bit closer, as if he had a great secret to tell her and immediately she felt her spine stiffen and that odd feeling of impending doom float over her. “Now, I know you're busy and don't worry, I'm not looking to run any more networks but,” and this is where it was going to go very badly, Carol knew already. “But I was thinking maybe you and I could go catch up sometime. I'm off the booze, for obvious reasons, but a coffee or dinner even? I owe you that much at least. For all the nutty crap I put you though.”

Had the invitation come from anyone else, including Merc, Carol may have actually considered it for a minute. Like why not get a free dinner out of someone who really fucked her over? It was literally the least anybody could do. But this was Castor and taking him up on his weird offers had never worked out well in the past and she was pretty sure that if she tried again, she was as insane as he was. That was the definition after all. Still... he looked like a puppy that peed on the carpet and she reminded herself that he was ill; none of it was really his fault. Maybe he truly meant it this time.

And then there was that glint. She'd seen it way too many times in her married bosses' eyes. It was a very thin layer of hunger, almost indistinguishable from the everyday covetous nature of her fellow industry professionals, and suddenly she understood that an apology dinner probably wasn't all it was going to be. At least not on his end.

“Um, I don't think so. I'm married.” It was the best reason in the entire world and really, nobody could argue with that logic. It was also the first time she'd got to use it and really stick it to someone else. She flashed her ring finger, just for good measure.

For a second it actually seemed like it worked. He stared at the ring and then up at her face, a blank look staring back at her. “So?”

“Happily.” Her voice was lower now. Dead serious. She feared that her usual tone might seem like she was lying. Although it would be a very elaborate lie to wear an expensive wedding and engagement ring just in the off chance an ex-lover would ask her to dinner.

He laughed then, thinking it was a joke because that apparently was a very normal thing to joke about in his world. “No, seriously. Nobody's happily married in our industry.”

Okay, now it was getting on her nerves just a little bit and she wasn't entirely certain why. Maybe it was the fact that he acted like he was part of their industry when no, he hadn't worked in TV as far as anyone knew since jumping up on the table in front of Elliot Salad and screaming about zombies. Maybe it was because he had zero concept about the idea of marriage. Or maybe it was simply because it implied that it wasn't possible for Carol to ever be in a happy marriage with anyone ever. That one stung just a little too much and she wasn't quite ready to let him get away with it.

“Well, I am.” She crossed her arms across her chest, standing up a bit taller in her black pumps. “Look, I appreciate the offer but I'm not interested in going on a date. _Ev-er_. Okay?”

It was always curious how men behaved when rejected. She'd seen it so many times and yet it somehow never stopped fascinating her. “To who? That Marvin guy? The old dipshit I had to save the network from?” Because it really mattered to Castor who it was. It could have been Santa Claus and he'd have something to say about it.

Just at that moment a black S-Class pulled up abruptly in front of Baltaire and Carol breathed out a huge sigh of relief. Like a really long breath. It didn't go unnoticed and Castor looked over to where the car was parked, craning his head around to peek through the tinted glass. Had he really forgotten a few minutes ago when Helen literally announced she was going to get the car?

“Is that him?”

Carol ignored the question completely, instead gesturing at Helen to get out and join them on the sidewalk. It was possible she may have looked just a little panicked because she felt that way. Most people may have found it an odd request especially as Carol was looking to get out the conversation as soon as possible but part of her, sort of, wanted to rub it in? Not necessarily in a mean way; just in the way that said, “Hey, I _can_ be happy. Look.”

With the engine turned off, Helen stepped out of her car and strolled towards them, the absolute picture of confidence. (It helped that their night had gone extremely well and likely they'd managed to win over some sponsors that needed special wooing.) Castor squinted, looping his thumbs into his pockets, saying nothing at all.

“What's up?” It was almost as if Helen could read every word of their body language because she moved in close, way too close to merely be co-workers, and then made a show of tucking her hair behind her ear with her left hand where her own rings sparkled in the night lights.

“Really?” He looked at Helen, then to Carol in _that_ way, and cocked his head. “Really?”

“Oh, yeah. _Really_ ,” Helen supplied, totally aware what his question was about.

“That's... Wow...” Obviously he wanted to say more, something different but she supposed he must be on some meds at least because he restrained himself, stumbling through his sentences instead. “That's great. Congratulations. Very cool. Um, how long?” Ah, and there was the rub. The kind of question that people asked to gauge if it was a serious thing or just some experiment or fling, especially when they saw two women together—but probably also when they saw Carol with anyone at all for any appreciable period of time.

There was the warm reassurance of Helen's hand taking hers and even after all this time, it still gave her comfort and a bit of a buzz, to be honest. She loved the fact that she had someone who would and could do that at any time, even if it was the simplest of gestures.

“Married? Two years.” Helen's voice had a definite air of pride to it and Carol bit down on her bottom lip to hold back a grin. Even now, she got butterflies when Helen basically bragged about them. Honestly, she'd expected the whole thing to fade out a little. And, well, it did to some degree when the novelty wore off but even so, there were still instances where Helen acted as if it was the most extraordinary, most unbelievably lucky thing in the world for her. Maybe it was—for both of them.

And yeah, also, Helen simply loved to gloat. Rub things in other people's faces. Normally that sort of behaviour from anyone was a turn off for Carol but when it came down to it, like really came down to it ( _and_ it was about her), it felt really, really, _really_ fucking good when it was Helen doing it, about her. Like at this moment? In front of a crazy ex-lover that did her wrong? She was loving it too and she wished, not for the first time, that she could just reach up and kiss Helen right there on the pavement in front of everybody and their cat. Of course, being an actual adult precluded those types of things but still, the urge was there, wriggling around in her abdomen. Or somewhere a bit lower.

Castor nodded, brows tight, as if he was working out the budget estimates for a pilot, like it was some very important thing deserving of all his fake seriousness.

“And just over 5 years, in total,” Helen added airily, just, it seemed, to twist the knife a little bit more. Like 'Don't get any ideas, mister. This one is mine for life and I am never fucking letting her go.' They had the rings to prove it anyway.

“Best part of my life.” Carol couldn't help herself and restraining that dreamy, floating lilt was impossible because she hadn't even intended to say those words at all, especially not out loud. Both Helen and Castor stared at her in silence for a minute, with different expressions on their faces and Carol could feel her cheeks warm to a deep pink. It was incredible what a habit she had now of blurting out declarations of love without thinking first. She couldn't actually meet Helen's curious eyes so she glanced at Castor instead, forcing an uneven smile.

He shifted uncomfortably with the admission. It all seemed rather over the top for a stranger probably, and that's really all he was. “Okay, amazing. Well, I'll leave you two ladies to it and... see you around. Helen, Carol.” With a final awkward salute, he wandered into the restaurant not once looking back at them and eventually Carol had to turn her attention to the woman whose hand was cradled tightly in her own.

A shy smile crept across her face at the enamoured look on Helen's face, like she'd never expected such a thing to be said about her. Considering they were _married_ it shouldn't be a surprise that her feelings ran so damn deep. Wasn't that the point of getting married?

Throughout the years, she'd been privy to seeing Helen at her worst: scared, upset, angry, needy. This was something different but not entirely inconceivable. There had always been hints of this vulnerability but never so openly, not on the busy sidewalk of San Vincente Boulevard.

“Best?” Her voice wavered a little.

Yeah. Better than just good. It was the best. Carol gave a tiny nod, her mouth turning up into a contented grin. “Best.”

 

 


End file.
